


The Adventure of the Delightful Floaty Liquid

by Flangst



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sherlock, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunk Sherlock, First Kiss, Fluff, John is a Saint, M/M, Romance, Shapeshifting, Whiskey - Freeform, sherlock is smol, sherlock is telepathic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flangst/pseuds/Flangst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bored Sherlock stumbles over John's hidden booze and decides to investigate...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Delightful Floaty Liquid

This substance was delightful! Sherlock had been poking through John’s room for the hundredth time, bored silly when he’d stumbled over a cabinet he’d neglected previously. In the cabinet was a single bottle of pale brown liquid, dusty from lack of use. Once he’d managed to extract the stopper he’d dipped his tongue in. The liquid burned pleasantly, with a sweet aftertaste that reminded him of the chocolate John sometimes offered him. He needed more data. He retracted his tongue back into his mouth, and tipped the bottle back, gulping it down. Oddly, the more of it he drank, the lighter he felt. His fingers were tingling, all sixteen of them. How fascinating! Also his vision appeared to be… well. He held out his arms for balance, a little chirp-cough escaping him as he set the empty bottle down. He staggered into the dresser, wondering why the room appeared to be spinning. Oh, this Earth drink was truly strange! He hoped John could procure more for him.

Humming softly to himself, he wobbled (crawled, tumbled) downstairs over to the fridge and took out the jar of honey that John had recently bought for him after he expressed keen interest in the food. He got to work removing the lid, which took more tries than usual; how interesting, the substance appeared to affect his dexterity! He would have to write it down when he… what was he thinking about? Ah, yes, John! John was so kind and thoughtful. And he smelled comforting, though he didn’t seem to appreciate Sherlock napping in his laundry or on his pillows. Didn’t he know that was how Sherlock’s race showed how much they loved someone? Or maybe that was something else? Well either way, John was lovely and he got honey for Sherlock and he smelled nice. He was aesthetically pleasing as well for a human. Perhaps Sherlock should give him something nice for all the kind things John had done. What did humans like? Perhaps John wanted more of those hideous yet delightfully soft (Sherlock found they made excellent nesting material) jumpers he was always wearing.

Sherlock curled up happily in John’s armchair, swiping globs of honey out of the jar and licking his fingers clean. Oh, John’s chair smelled so… John-ish. Mmmm.  
Oh, now his stomach was achy. This wasn’t so nice. He burped softly and ran a hand over his belly, which seemed a little distended. Well, he had just eaten the rest of the honey… but… He rolled over, sighing, his head pleasantly floaty even if his stomach felt unsettled. He rubbed his face and sensitive antennae against the fabric of the seat, absorbing John’s unique, addictive scent.

He had just been dozing off to fermented dreams of John when his antennae detected footfalls on the stairs. Very specific footfalls. Both of his hearts leapt. John was home!  
{John!} he cried out happily in a loud mental shout. The footsteps became a run as John hurried up to see what the matter was.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are—what—“ John seemed baffled by the sight the loopy alien beaming at him from his chair. There were no odd smells and nothing seemed to be immediately on fire. There was an empty jar of honey on the floor though, and he thought he smelled… Irish cream.

{John, have I told you how—hic!—nice you are? You’re so very very—hic!—nice, John,} Sherlock’s baritone rumble slurred through John’s brain. Was he… drunk? Sick?  
“Sherlock… are you feeling alright?” asked John, concerned. The alien almost did seem to be acting drunk, rolling around on John’s chair like a cat in catnip.  
{Jusss—hic!—lovely John… except my stomach. It hurts a bit… why does it hurt?}

John’s doctor alarm bells were ringing faintly. What had he eaten? Was it poisonous? So far the alien had gotten lucky but he may have ingested something really toxic this time.  
Following the smell, he went upstairs and discovered his private liquor cabinet open and his bottle of Bailey’s empty. Well that explained it. Poor Sherlock must have been plastered out of his mind. John sighed in annoyance—he thought he told Sherlock to stay out of his things!  
“Sherlock, you drank the whole bottle?”  
{Yeshhh I did John! It was… sur—surppr—surprisingly delicious. It makes me feel all floaty. Your chair smells nice.} The alien sighed, rubbing his belly, antennae twitching this way and that. John let out a heavy breath. He didn’t seem to be suffering from alcohol poisoning. Perhaps his species could consume a higher volume than a human before suffering serious damage.

“Sherlock, you aren’t supposed to drink it all in one sitting. It’s for special occasions, and only in a little amount! The amount you drank, I’m surprised you’re not puking your guts or… whatever you have… all over the rug!”

Oh no, oh, John sounded upset. Perhaps he’d found the mold experiment Sherlock was cultivating on the leftover Chinese food. Or perhaps he’d meant to drink the delicious floaty liquid himself and Sherlock had taken it because he was horrible and selfish! Oh… Sherlock didn’t want John to think of him as selfish. Or horrible. He whimpered unhappily, half because of his unhappily churning stomach, and curled into a small miserable ball. Literally, as he’d retracted all recognizable body parts and formed an oblong, black-furred lump.

“Oh, Sher… I’m not mad,” chuckled John wearily, gently lifting the quivering lump and setting it in his lap. A small trilling noise issued from the sulky alien. “I was just concerned. Don’t want you to accidentally poison yourself or something. And I… was looking forward to drinking that, but I can get another one, I guess.” Sherlock shivered a bit in his lap as John ran a hand over the silky-soft fine fur of his body, rippling blackish-purple in the wake of his palm. 

Sherlock crooned softly—he wanted to unfurl as this position was putting pressure on his overfull stomach but he wanted to make sure he was in the clear. Plus, John’s hand on his fur felt so good…

{Sososorryyyy John… I won’t do it again…}

John chuckled again. Poor thing. “No, I imagine you won’t after the headaches you’ll be feeling later.”

Abruptly Sherlock de-compacted and John found himself holding a sprawl of lanky, drunk, and now alarmed, alien. He gripped John’s face between two hands, the other two still pressed over his stomach. All three eyes were wide in alarm, shining bright blue.

{What do you mean headaches John? What other symptoms are there? Is that liquid poison?? Why would you have that in the house?? I—} This was accompanied by a flurry of worried chittering.

John gently pressed a hand over Sherlock’s mouth, wishing he could do something to stop the barrage of telepathic questions in his mind. “Shh, shh Sherlock, no, it’s not poison—I mean, yeah in large doses you can poison yourself with alcohol, quite glad you didn’t manage that! But you’re not showing any symptoms of poisoning. I just mean when your body metabolizes the alcohol, you’ll probably have some headaches, you might be nauseous—it’s called a hangover. With the amount you consumed…” He trailed off, realizing he probably wasn’t doing much to alleviate the alien’s worry. Sherlock stared hard at him with the concentration of one very liquored up, blinking all his eyes fuzzily. One antenna slowly trailed down John’s face—John had since learned that this was Sherlock’s way of picking up data through scent and touch. The touch felt like a caress, almost intimate. 

Well. Sherlock was drunk, John reminded himself, no need to be putting meaning where there wasn’t any.

{Johnnnnn… did you know that you’re aesthetically pleasing for a human?} purred the alien, who John latently realized was still holding his face tenderly in two of his hands. John gulped, feeling his face heat up. He had no clue if this was a result of the drunkenness now or… something else completely. Sherlock hadn’t told him a thing about his own race’s reproductive habits, but he knew Sherlock had learned a lot of his behavior from John himself and from other humans. This was… intimate.

“I… yes? I suppose, yes, I’ve been told that once or twice. Maybe not in those words…”

He also realized that Sherlock was literally purring as well, a deep crooning noise vibrating through his whole body. This was a turn-up… Sherlock was never this congenial.

“I… I…” There was a sort of feeling in his mind, a warm fuzzy feeling he would characterize as pinkish if he had to pick a color, and realized that Sherlock was mentally mumbling all sorts of little affections to him. The alien blinked adoringly at him, antennae stroking at John’s forehead the way one might stroke the skin of a lover. John blinked back, heart racing.

“No—Sherlock, this isn’t you. This is just the alcohol—maybe you should get off my lap—“

{No, John, no!} With a frantic chirp Sherlock clung to him with all four arms, wrapping his prehensile tail around John’s waist for good measure. {John, I… I mph-may be intoxicated but I’m not… this isn’t lying. Or floaty liquid. This is my… sentiment? For you. Please don’t leave.}

“Of course I won’t leave! Never.”

Slowly the purring returned as John began to rub Sherlock’s belly soothingly. The alien sighed and snuggled closer against him and John resigned himself to staying quite a while longer. This was… really quite nice. Of course, when he’d pictured himself and the eccentric creature together (almost every night) they were usually sober in the fantasies. He’d never dream of taking advantage of Sherlock, but he wondered how deep the alien’s affection for him ran. Hopefully as deep as John’s did.

{John… I wish to… that is… hrm… may I…} After a long, pleasant lull Sherlock made an uncertain humming sound, which John recognized as a sign of embarrassment.  
“Yeah?” John peered down at the alien who was looking away, antennae curling self-consciously and flashing various shades of purple and blue. John petted at them to try to get them to calm down and Sherlock froze, his antennae flaring a brilliant violet.

{JOHN!} Sparks of pleasure coursed through Sherlock’s body, combined with his mind chanting ‘finally, finally!’ to him. Finally, after over a year of pitiful pining and longing John was kissing him, finally, finally finally—

John froze. Clearly this was going too far. But instead of pushing him away, Sherlock purred louder and pushed his head against John’s head encouragingly. John stroked the antennae again and Sherlock actually moaned into his mind, making John blush again.

“Sherlock… um… please tell me I’m not…”

{Wha…? Oh, no, John, it’s nothing like that, it’s… er… it’s rather… I was trying to ask… it’s how my species… kisses.}

John processed that for a bit.

{Obviously if you were of my own kind we would stroke antennae but as you lack the proper anatomy…} Sherlock seemed to be sobering up (John was almost jealous—not only could he chug an entire bottle of liquor and not be utterly destroyed but he didn’t seem to be suffering the effects of a hangover) and sat up a bit in John’s lap, loosening his grip.

“Well… it’s kind of nice… I guess I’d really need antennae to get the whole effect,” laughed John, and Sherlock scowled rather adorably.

{Fine, then, kiss me the way humans do.} My, but this ‘alcohol’ was emboldening. Sherlock was rather proud of himself.

John gulped. Sherlock’s mouth wasn’t human but it was similar enough that kissing could work. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock would feel anything but, even if not, how many average London blokes could say they’d kissed alien right on the mouth?

Eh, what the hell. Not like he hadn’t been dying to do it anyways.

Ooh. Human kissing was very… warm. And wet, fascinating. Sherlock would have to do some tests on the particular chemical construction of John’s saliva as compared to his own. And he was doing a thing with his tongue… oh a very nice thing. Mmmm. He was trying to match John’s lip techniques when the human pulled away. Sherlock hummed in disappointment.

“Er, Sherlock, you were, um, broadcasting a bit there. Into my head.”

{Oh. Apologies. May we return to the human kissing now?} He leaned in again but John stopped him.

“Hold on. This… I mean, is this an experiment or…? Cause… if it is, we should stop so I don’t get my, um, hopes up.”

Sherlock chittered in frustration. John really was dense sometimes; he was certainly fortunate Sherlock loved him. {No, John, not an experiment. I… I find I have very deep affections for you and I would like to explore them, if you’re amenable.}

“I think I’d really like that, Sherlock.” John couldn’t wipe the grin off his face and didn’t care how dorky he might have looked right then.

{I am not female.}

“Yes, I noticed.”

{And you’re not, as you humans term it, gay,} continued Sherlock cautiously, antennae flicking in agitation.

“Bisexual, actually.” It was weird coming out to an alien but there you go. “And… I feel the same, Sherlock. Have for a while if I’m honest.”

Sherlock beamed. {John…} He nuzzled against John’s face, crooning softly as his antennae caressed the rest of John’s head. John stroked down Sherlock’s narrow back, feeling the curly mane that bisected his back and the few long, antennae-like protrusions between his shoulder blades.

Sherlock could not remember being so happy. Maybe part of that could be attributed to the delightful but odd ‘alcohol’ but it was probably mostly from the human currently holding him in his lap and showering him with affection. He nudged against John’s mouth again, eager to resume human kissing.

John taught him all about the human art of ‘snogging’ that day as well.


End file.
